"The river's still rising," Mac announced by way of good-morning. "We'll
have to bustle up and get across, or the water'll be over the wire, and
then we'll be done for."
Bustle as we would, however "getting across" was a tedious business. It
took nearly an hour's hustling and urging and galloping before the horses
could be persuaded to attempt the swim, and then only after old Roper had
been partly dragged and partly hauled through the back-wash by the
amphibious Jackeroo.
Another half-hour slipped by in sending the horses' hobbles across on the
pulley that ran on the wire, and in the hobbling out of the horses.
Then, with Jackeroo on one side of the river, and the Maluka and Mac on
the other, swags, saddles, packbags, and camp baggage went over one by
one; and it was well past mid-day before all was finished.
Then my turn came. A surcingle--one of the long thick straps that keep
all firm on a pack-horse--was buckled through the pulley, and the Maluka
crossed first, just to test its safety. It was safe enough; but as he
was dragged through the water most of the way, the pleasantness of
"getting across" on the wire proved a myth.
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